The Attic
by C.M.Bruce
Summary: When her love leaves for the army, Hinata is left all alone. She slowly loses reality and sanity. Sorry for spelling and grammer.


The Attic

By: C.

I didn't mind it here. In the attic. All alone. It smelt old, worn out, eaten from the inside out. Dark but not gloomy. Enchanted, and filled with a sorrowful magic. It took up the entire area of the house and the staircase was merely a ladder that could be lowered to the floor below. Of course I always kept it locked. There was a lone dumb-waiter, very sturdy. I had checked with a building block. You know the grey ones with the two large holes in the middle. It sat in the far corner on the other side of the ladder in a quiet little manner. I was only on the first floor, now, as I explored this forgotten house. I settled the candle between my knees, checking to shut the sliding door securely, up I went.

I didn't trust myself to go down. I loved dark places, they're the refuge from the things I could not grasp nor see. So, I went up. I knew where each floor was for on my side of the wall were painted numbers where each sliding door for the floors were, painted in all capitals letters of a faded red.

You could only unlock the door from the inside; I did so, stood, and looked about me. I had started from the kitchen on the first floor. It wasn't really the first floor but it wasn't the basement either. I walked past the ladder to the very center of the very large, gigantic room, and merely sat on the dust ridden floor.

My family had to move. My eldest brother, Gaara, just came back from the army. He would be home until summoned. He was gone away for four years. He was my best friend and I was heartbroken when he left. Mother and father were so proud! I wanted him to stay with me.

Gaara isn't really my brother; he was my step-cousin. My step-father, brother's son. My uncle recently killed himself. Shame really, he always gave me candy. Gaara soon came to live with us. I didn't mind, I was an only child, so company was needed greatly.

I wasn't neglected, not really. My mother was a pianist. A very famous one at that. She was gone a lot of the time, which I didn't mind; I didn't much involve myself with her anyway. I didn't hate her, I hated the way she treated others. She treated my father like a king on a thorn-less rose bush.

My father was a writer. He has already published eight books in the past 2 months. It didn't shock me. He, in all of his years of writing, starting from the age of 15 (the age I am now) to the age he is now, 32, is about 250. He even published poems and short stories in children's books. Maybe when I was four or five, but at the young age of 6, I was reading classics. When I was 10, I read Jane Eyre. I was known to be a prodigy. Never a day in my life did was I schooled. Not even home schooled. When I picked up a book, I could understand it all.

I spend my nights in parks or walking the streets alone. We were still in the city. I hated the city! Too much noise; too much light! When Gaara came to stay, I was overjoyed. We often took into each other's company. He looks after me for the days or weeks my parents were gone. My aunt and uncle didn't mind. My uncle's first wife died while giving birth to Gaara. He remarried to a 16 year-old Asian. Naturally they would want to do things with just themselves about, so they were never unhappy about Gaara coming over. Don't worry, it's not as bad as it sounds, I wasn't born at the time, so they were all pretty young. Not yet old. His father remarried at the age of 26. It wasn't that uncommon around here for this to happen, in fact, this happened almost every day around here.

My uncle's new wife cheated on him, two weeks later he committed suicide. Gaara hated, absolutely loathed his step-mother. So, her he is. With me.

My mother bore me at the fragile age of 17. My father was 29. Their parents thought very highly of this. Persons who marry people far older or far younger than them get the highest respect. My parents are now 39 and 51. Ripe ages I suppose.

Gaara was out. Lord only knows what he's up to. Just last week he caught the old mill house in a blaze of red satin. Smoke smothered the city. He came home drunk and laughing. His entire arm was covered in a second degree burns. I smacked him smartly across the face, not enough to hurt (much) but enough to get his attention.

"What have you done, Gaara?" I knew very well what he did and so did he for it was all over the bloody news! I had asked him this for him to think about what affect it had on me. He frowned and plopped himself, quite ungracefully, upon the sofa. I hurried to get the things required to mend his arm. He didn't protest as I worked. I was always good in the medical area.

I lectured him until I was tired. When I was done, I softly petted his injured arm, not really knowing what to do, and all my anger washed away. I could never stay mad at him for any extent of time. I felt tears build up. I knew I shouldn't have cried but damn him in every way! When he looked at me with his sea-green eyes, I couldn't help but to love him. His soft red locks always feel into his eyes and he was always shoving them out of the way. His arms were strong, and quite huge, which he used to wrap around me when either he or I were upset. His shoulders were broad and his chest hard but somehow soft, safe, warm. His stomach, for the most part, was smooth and flat with no muscles showing but hidden beneath is small layer of chunk. He was a computer genius. I suppose everyone in my family was in something or other. He knew every little detail like the things were his lovers. I laughed to myself silently at this.

I had stopped everything while I thought these things. I looked at my hands and realized that I was elbow deep in clay. Quite literally. My foot had come off the pedal which I was grateful for. I was sitting there in a pair of underwear and a T-shirt that I always used for clay working. Gaara was used to seeing me in my underwear. The first he was shocked, and left my room in an embarrassed heap. He came back later more composed and didn't react so harshly at the site of my pink cotton panties with a small, cute, brown bear on the front. It's really no big deal now. Except the day he walked in and I was with a shirt, only a bra and panties. His face grew red and he hurried out. I was 13 at the time, so of course I had breasts. Small but very apparent. I had a cute, not pretty, body. I had never thought that these things were wrong. I raised myself from the age of 5 or 6/ I was always looked after but I was never the type of child who looked at a role model. I had none. Appear before a 17 almost 18 year-old boy in a little more than nothing, hadn't seemed wrong. I didn't understand why he ran out.

I had started the wheel back up. The whirring of the machine buzzed lightly in my ears while music played softly in the background. My hands caressed the wet clay beneath my fingertips. This bowl would be my fourth one that day. I was currently working on a table set for a family down the street. A young couple and a baby on the way. They were constantly getting paper plates and plastic sporks. I felt sorry for them. They spent all of their money for a thing that wasn't even there yet. I was slightly proud of them.

I scrapped the bowl from the round disk, and placed it in one of the windows to dry. The one nearest to the dumb-waiter. The wheel was nearer to the window, though. I stood for a moment, staring out into the sunrise. It was pretty, gorgeous even. I sighed and withdrew. I turned and looked about me. In front of me were six bookshelves filled completely with books, except one. This one I was still working on filling. I only placed books in here that I've read and liked. On the other side of this was another window like the one beside me. The attic had 3 food long wide, deep-set windows. This window was made into a type of seat for which to set and read. Across from all this was my bed. A twin sized bed with green everything upon it. Pillow-cases, cheats, quilt, all of it. At the foot of my bed was a trunk. I kept things in there that I did not want anyone to see. I lifted the lid and in was nothing. Nothing but the thoughts and feelings I locked away. Each time I looked at them, it grew harder and harder to close the lid each time. I tried getting a lock and throwing away the key but it overpowered me and my body forced me to bust the lock and look at all the things that I could never get.

There was a light click, and I heard the door in the wall connected to the dumb-waiter shaft, span open. I heard the soft thuds of my cousin's steel-toed shoes as he walked. I flinched when a tremendous boom was heard as Gaara dropped whatever heavy object he was carrying, to the ground. I could feel him come up behind me and gently wrap his powerful arms that were strong enough to pull my arms clean from my body, around my shoulders and lay his chin atop my crown. I sighed, but he seemed not to notice. He was a considerable amount taller than me. His chest to my shoulders and his hips to my breasts. I had to be careful of how I hugged him for his boney hips would hurt my tender, small bulbs of soft flesh. I felt him turn his head slightly and I knew he was looking at the four bowls in the window.

"You've been busy today, Hinata." He stated this as a fact but I nodded anyway. He too nodded and disheld me. I heard the dumb-waiter shaft door slide open and snap shut again. I listened as the small squeaky pulley system sounded across my ears until they stopped. He was on the very first floor.

I knew I had been more distant that day than usual. I didn't care. I was hooked into my art that day. There are times when I don't want to have anything to do with art then other days, I'm so enthralled that I don't want to stop. Sometimes, I go on for days without eating or sleeping and only making art. That's what I did. Made art. Gaara loved to come up and watch me at times. There were nights when he'll sit behind me in another chair while I'm working away on my clay wheel. He'll place his hands on mine and follow my hand movements with his own slightly clumsy ones. He'll run his hands up my arms covered with the grey liquid. He'll wipe it on my face, my neck, legs. All of my legs, from my naked toes to my thighs, making sure to never go too high. I had never thought anything of it. I thought he was merely playing with me. It never seemed serious, so I never took it serious. Sometimes, I would see some emotion in his eyes that I never knew what it was. I didn't think about it either. I was so naive and focused on the world in the colors of my mind. I did not care about humanity. He never went farther with any of his games. Those nights where he came to watch, whether it's painting, clay, or just sketching, he would lift my chin to look him in the eyes then he would kiss the corner of my lips.

I wasn't the type of person to laugh, let alone smile. But when he did kiss me, I would drag my fingernail lightly across his up turned wrist that would still be grasping my chin, to show him that I cared too.

One night he had left and did not return till four that morning. He told me that he had been drinking and didn't want to come home like he was. He had gone and eaten at an all-night cafe and sobered up. It was clear that he was still slightly drunk but, as usual, I didn't say anything and he grew angry.

"Why don't you ever tell me anything?!" He all but screamed at me and I grew frightened." You smile or laugh! The only way that I can tell your happy is the way you touch me!" He grabbed my face painfully between his massive hands. I was scared, terrified even, and I think he noticed. He kissed the corner of my mouth. I didn't move. He kissed me again and again until finally after more kissed then I could even count, he fell to his knees and wept. I felt helpless, but damn him! I wanted him here with me! I knew I was being selfish but I didn't care, but.... if I cared so less, how come my body betrayed me? I felt myself wrap my arms around his shoulders. Even now on his knees, the top of his had reached my shoulders. His strong arms wrapped around my waist and lifted me up and he curled around my body when he walked to my bed to lay us down upon it. He soon fell asleep. My front was pressed against his, and his breath fanned against my forehead. The window was just visible between his shoulder and his soft pale neck. I memorized his face, his arms, his neck, and everything else that I could see. I traced his lips with a small finger, down along his jaw, down his neck, and onto his collar bone. I watched the sun come up and grace his hair angelically. I crawled my way out of his arms and redressed myself in new panties and a T-shirt. I had kept the same bra on. I pulled out a new canvas, out of the huge pile of different sizes leaning against the far wall. I began to paint that lovely beauty upon my bed.

He awoke. I had finished the painting only twenty minutes before, giving me enough time to clean up everything. The canvas still sat, drying, as I went over to the bed to look down upon him. He rubbed his eyes lazily and then looked up at me. He was never one to forget anything during a drunk episode. He got up and walked a few clumsy steps to me. Slowly, he reached up and caressed my skin beneath his fingers. I looked into his eyes and saw fear. It was surely fear of rejection like I had done that night. He closed his eyes and leaned closer. I could feel his hot breath across my face. He tenderly kissed the side of my mouth. This time, instead of one lone finger, I rose up my whole hand and glided my fingertips along his wrist. He gasped and half laughed at once. Smiling widely, he kissed my mouth once more. He left then. That night he didn't come watch. I was sad, slightly, a new emotion for me. I worked on. On anything I could. I made the entire rest of the table set for the family down the road; I painted them too and placed them in the kiln. I sat near to feel the warmth radiating from it while painting a very small canvas.

The morning passed. I grew worried. The first time in 2 months I stepped out of my room and out of the dumb-waiter to another floor. Two floors below mine and two floors above the kitchen. Completely isolated was Gaara's room. It was slightly ajar and when I pushed the door wide open, I crumpled to a heap on the floor. I cried for the first time since I was a baby and I screamed out my fury. Apron his naked bed was a note. He had gone to join the army.

Gaara had been my source of information for the outside world. I moved his rather large TV into my room using the ladder. I could just barely carry it up those narrow steps. I used this for information, but not often.

Every other week my parents would send a gigantic crate of things like canned food and clothes, books, art supplies, and a lot of other things. Another man came once a week to give me things that would spoil if put in a crate, such as milk, meats, and (if I was lucky) ice cream.

I found out a few weeks later in a letter, that they never planned to return home, my parents. They wished "us" well. They still thought Gaara went to college, which he told them he would as soon as he turned 18. I cried. For the second time in my life. I cried. I was alone. All alone at the age of 13. Alone. I felt dead suddenly. Cold and distant than ever before. I went into my room, grabbed the biggest canvas and attached it to other big canvasses using wood glue and nails. It covered the whole back wall and the wall where my bed sat. I had to put my bed in the center then. I painted. For seven days I painted with no sleep nor food. The toxic fumes got to me quickly for all the windows and doors were shut tight. I grew dizzy, faint, but still I painted. Things spun and at the time I didn't know anything else. My painting grew wild, hungry, manically. I was covered from head to toe, but I didn't care. On that eighth night, I was finished. I dropped my brush and screamed. I screamed. I knew I was filthy. I went out of my room and as soon as real air hit my lungs, my mind crumbled. Drifting in and out of consciousness, I threw up blood and food and spit. I kept moving.

I woke up two days later. I was lying in a bathtub on the second floor above the kitchen. It was overflowing with freezing water. Quickly, I turned it off and unplugged the drain. There was about 2 inches of water along the floor. I was thankful that there was a five inches drop from the hallway to the bathroom floor. I walked to my room and pulled down the ladder. I had no strength for the dumb-waiter. I reached my salvation at last! It was similar to heaven to me. I stumbled, trapped, and even fell a few times before I could reach my bed. My feet were like stone as I dragged them across the floor, when I looked down even, I could see the concrete poured over my feet, hard, and I hissed with anger. My hands found the hem of my shirt and I yanked it off, a soft plop was heard as the soaking wet material was dropped to the ground. I felt the cold water fling back onto my already chilled legs from where it splattered on the floor. My bra and underwear were next. As I bent forward to slide the green cotton from around my ankles, I fell forward to my knees and hands, that's when I began cry. Oh how I cried! I wailed and my body shook. I screamed and cursed to the loudest my little voice could muster. I flung the garment off my feet and crawling along the floor like a lowly thing that I was, to my bed. As soon as I hoisted my body from the ground and underneath the blankets, I fell asleep. I had no dreams, for that I was thankful cause then my rest could be peaceful.

It was morning when I awoke, highly unusual for me. My head ached terribly but I lifted myself slowly from the warmth of my bed. It was slightly chilly within my room, but not unbearable. I looked to the floor and saw my scattered clothes, though they were no longer wet, the woodened floor around them, were. I cursed slightly underneath my breath as I picked up the articles and quickly threw them within the hamper near my dresser at the end of my bed, four feet from my trunk. Before I even lowered the ladder to the level below, my stomach gave an awful growl at me and pain exploded in my gut. I almost doubled over, in fact I did. I barely had managed to lower the ladder before I flung myself down them and hustled myself to the kitchen. I came to a stop, thought, at the bathroom I had awoken in. I could see all the water and I almost cried at the thought of the lovely wooden floor begin to rot through and all the water fall to the level below. Behind me was the hall closest, I grabbed as many towels as I could and I began to soak up all the water. I ignored all of my hunger pains as I grabbed, also, the sheets from the closet when I ran out of towels. I finished within the hour but just barely and I piled all the damp sheets and towels into a laundry basket, placing them in the hallway on my way to the kitchen. I wasn't one for fast eating, but I popped a noodle cup into the microwave anyway and proceeded outside. I was very thankful for the high boarded fence around the backyard; I had walked out the back door without realizing that I was completely naked. I was that tired, hungry, and still dazed from the fumes. I hung the materials out onto the clothes line with slow and highly inaccurate steps. Though, I had gotten it done. I ate my noodles and settled within the confines of my bedroom. Standing there still naked and bare to everything, I saw the kiln and I almost cried again, relieved that there was a timer to the thing. When I lifted the lid, everything was perfect and I to myself. Quickly, I dressed in a long T-shirt of Gaara's, one that reached my knees and a long black, long-sleeve, undershirt. I placed a belt upon my hips and slipped into a pair of boots that he had had when he was my age. They were black and simple. The socks I had one of his were red and when pulled up like I had them, almost reached the hem of my brown T-shirt. This seemed to satisfy my body and mind mutedly agreed, but I think it heard because my body wasn't stumbling anymore, they always fought. I was glad they weren't now.

Gaara had made a wagon for me on a Christmas when I was younger. I used this to load all of the dished I had made. They were all a soft Easter green with vibrant purple swirls along the edges. Off I went down the road to the street of the house with the baby on the way. It was the first time I had left the house in over a year.

Oh how they loved them! The misses was worried for me, though. Why? I look sick? Nonsense! I've never been sick a day in my life! I lied. Oh well. None of her buisnus anyway. As soon as I was back, I replaced the wagon from where I had found it. The tool shed. I then ran all the way from the first floor to the attic. I don't know why but I was in a frenzy almost to get there! I ran so fast I almost tripped several times and I ran into a few objects including the wall on my hurry to my haven. I pulled the strong rope up; almost sure that someone was following me! The ladder folded and snapped shut, my hands slipped a little and the ladder almost fell again! The face! Oh that faces beneath me, standing there on the landing, smiling up at me! I pulled as hard as my tiny little body could. Click! I quickly locked it and walked backward, watching to make sure no one tried to get in. I was sure now that the thing that was following me could not get through. I ran to the dumb-waiter. I was positive that only me and Gaara knew where that was but just in case, I locked that too. Slowly, I staggered to the center of the room and kneeled, for the first time, I looked at the giant masterpiece before me. I marveled at the beautiful view before me. This was truly the greatest treasure I had ever created in all of my 13 years.

I've been alone for four years. Alone.... scared. In this house all alone. My parents still paid for all the things I needed like good parents that loved me. They still thought Gaara was here with me, which was good. I did not want them home. I am now 17. Though, I am still this small little thing. Since the age of 13 I grew six inches, I am now 5'2". I have read every book in my library of 9 bookcases and the large library on a lower floor. I have painted all of my canvasses, and now I wait for each crate to bring me new ones.

There is a dog that has found me. I am sure he is no dog! Please believe me! I was so lonely and he came. He came for me! Not for you! For me! The dog, I think, is Death. He is! Really he is! He talks to me. He tells me when people die. He told me the couple down the street, the one I made the table set for, lost their son to a man pretending to be their friend. They found the boy two years later, naked in a ditch two states away. I cried so hard when he told me. I told my body not to but it doesn't ever listen to me and I broke down. I couldn't help and that made it even worse.

A man came one night, busting through the kitchen window. I had heard the noise and I rushed down the stairs, no longer afraid with Death beside me.

He was just standing there with gashes all over his face, arms and naked chest. He looked about 19, three years younger than Gaara. I had laid him on the couch and I cleaned all of his wounds. When I was done, I went back upstairs to change my clothes which had gotten blood all upon them. When I came back, he was gone. After that one night, he always came back. Usually it was at three in the morning. He would come through another window near the one had had broken that was now covered in plastic. I unlocked that window for him and I always had an extra plate of food on the kitchen table. He always carried a gun, this I knew from the first time I had met him and cleaned his wounds. He always smelt like drugs. The really bad kind. I was never afraid.

His name, Death told me, was Sasuke. Sasuke never spoke. I assumed he was mute, but he always listened. He loved to hear me talk, he said. He would sit on the floor next to my bed and rest his head in my lap and wrap his arms about my waist. He listened as I told him storied. He never did question me. I laughed at this because he couldn't speak or make a sound anyway. Some of the things he told me, though, were amazing. He told me secrets. Secrets no one should know or ever find out. Sometimes it really did scare me and sometimes I loved it. He hated the question "Why?", so I never asked. I never dared. His psychotic mind knew everything and I never went to another for information. I couldn't anyway. His body, despite his mind, did things on its own. Lashing out and cursing loudly out suddenly with no visible reason. He had never hit me but he did put holes in the floors and walls. I quickly fixed these things, and it was fine. Sasuke always told me he loved me. All the time. Every minute of every day. I never told him that I loved him back and I think that made him sad. Sasuke didn't come back one night, and when a car pulled into my driveway, I knew why. Sasuke knew someone was going to come, and then I thought about it. That dog must have told him.

I watched a man in a green uniform with a green bad with the word "ARMY" printed in large black letters across the top. I watched him come to the door and my heart pounded wildly. In his hand was a key and in he went. I flew down the stairs and all the way down to the front hall where I could see the front door and in the doorway was a man I never thought I'd see again.

"Gaara?" My voice was shaky and it crackled rather noticeably. The bag was dropped from his shoulder and the next thing I knew, he was holding me. My legs were wrapped around his waist and my arms around his neck. His own arms, which were a lot bigger than I remember them to be, were wrapped around my middle. I cried, cried so hard on his shoulder that he slightly chuckled. He carried me upstairs and we laid upon the bed together like we used to, and fell asleep with him stroking my hair.

In the morning I woke to his heavy breathing in my ear, and I looked to view his face above mine. His brows were furrowed and he seemed bothered by something unknown. Every few seconds his body would twitch and he would give a noise. I realized he was dreaming and I smiled slightly. Somehow I managed to slip from his arms and I scurried across the room to change, keeping my eyes upon Gaara for any signs of waking. The last thing I needed was for him to see my naked rear-end in the air. My shirt was next and I was quick to pick my favorite, saved for special occasions. I hurried to the kitchen to fix breakfast, I had to double-check everything to make sure that there was enough, accustomed to my small portions and servings. Before I was done, though, Gaara come lazily down the stairs, stopping in the doorway to watch me. I didn't turn around nor speak for I didn't know what to say to him and I think this angered him. He stood some ways away from me but close enough to watch my every move. For a strange reason, I didn't mind and I continued to busy myself. I tried to fix my mind on the bacon sizzling away in the pan, handle in my right hand, and wooden spoon in my left. I must have trailed my mind for my spoon slipped and the bacon perched upon it dropped from the spoon and landed in the pan, splattering some grease onto my hand. My body panicked and as I tried to snatch my hand away, my finger scrapped the side of the pan and the whole side of my finger was burnt. I lifted the spoon from the pan and settled it on the stove, at the same time shutting the stove completely off. Gaara, who had seen my stupidity, had already turned the cold water on and I could only stand their looking at him while he gripped my wrist lightly and gently placed it beneath the water. I didn't question, I never did, but I could see in his eyes that he didn't like this.

We had eaten, both of us were just as quiet as ever, and a frown was set upon his face. For the first time in six years, I spoke to him,

"Why did you leave me?" My voice cracked and for a long, strangled moment I thought he hadn't heard my quiet sound I admitted but as I looked up, his face was shocked and he could only look at me for a long while. I saw him gulp and he answered.

"I couldn't handle...." He stopped and looked at his hands shyly and I noticed a blush stained his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. I stood up from where I sat and walked over to him. He looked scared and nervous when I stood before him but all I did was wrap my arms around his shoulders and pulled his head to rest on my breast. His breathing was labored but he wrapped his own arms around my waist anyway. Each moment that past, his grip grew tighter until I almost cried out. I tangled my fingers through his hard and my nail raked his back almost painfully but he seemed to enjoy it for he signed seemingly in content and I could feel his hot breath on my chest.

A few minutes passed while we held each other like this before Gaara scooped me up in his arms with my slim legs wrapped around his waist and his arms supporting me. Why was he doing this to me? Why was he teasing me? He left me because I wasn't good enough for him and now he's treating me like I was!

I was in my room. Alone. Again. I had locked the dumb-waiter so no one could come up it. I locked the ladder so no one could pull it down. Gaara was in the hallway. He called my name. For a long moment, I felt sorry for Gaara and I almost couldn't resist the urge to go to him, to hold him in my arms and kiss his tender face. I was on my bed and when my feet hit the floor to walk over to the ladder to let him in, there came a low growl from the corner. My heart skipped a beat from being startled but I wasn't afraid. I knew that it was Death. Death was beside God and the devil himself. I turned to face him. My mind refused to look but my body never listened for it knew that He wouldn't like it if I didn't. He loved me because I took care of him and was unafraid and I knew he would never take me early no matter what any other God said. I wished the devil or the "Almighty" would interfere and take me away already, but I knew Death would never allow it for my soul was his lover. Death was my immortal lover. Implosive, loving, abusive, short-tempered, passionate to an extremity any human soul would wither away from it. I was scared-no-terrified! I had no choice and as I thought all of this, Death chuckled in that deep, low, whispery, and purely evil voice of his. So vial that insects in the ground slithered in fear from it. He came forward to me and rested on the floor between my knees while I was still sitting upon the bed. He wanted me to pet him so I did. There was sick, warm, thick goo on his charcoal black coat but it never transferred onto me, always only sticking to his fur in a blood red blob. I listened obediently, petting him and listening to Gaara's frantic cries. He moved out of the room and went down the hall still pleading for me.

"Hinata! Please! Don't leave me! I love you!" I started to cry, lightly and silently but they became great sobs of grief. Death would not let me leave, so.... the only time I disobeyed my keeper, I screamed. I screamed for him to come to me. Death sleeked back into the shadows with a vicious snarl and he left. I ran to open the ladder and I saw Gaara and his blood shot eyes. How I loved him then.

I should have listened and obeyed him. I shouldn't have screamed for my love to come.... but it was too late for that. I disobeyed him, and I knew that I was going to pay dearly for it. For some odd reason, I felt happy even thought I knew I was going to pay the price. Gaara's arms were around me and he was carrying me to my bed, to lay with me and to hold me close. I was crying, slightly, my tears rolling onto his neck and naked collar bone. He wore no shirt and his warmth from his naked chest was seeping through my thin T-shirt. My legs were around his waist and the hand on my thigh was hot as lava on my skin. His right arm was wrapped around my middle. Again I realized just how small I was compared to him. In some sick, twisted, and strange way, I loved it when he tests my strength. No, not abusively. When I was younger, he would pin my arms above my head and sit on my legs, waiting till I got out of his hold in some way. It gave me an odd thrill and I wished he'd do it more often. Only a few days ago he did this, playfully, and I was not able to free myself. He confessed he was not using even half his strength and I knew it when he pinned me I was not able to move not one inch. It had given that same sensation as when I was younger but more of a feeling that I thought I was running a fever and had the flu. I felt hot but I had the chills, my stomach gave me a weird feeling and I felt like I would throw up any minute. I never shared this with Gaara but I always thought he already knew because my body loved to betray me by making expressions for me and I hated it. Gaara told me that these faces were innocent and frightened but he also told me that he loved them because he too found pleasure in over-powering me but he didn't tell me this until much later that night. I think I kind of knew just like he did, every time (even when I was little) he pinned me or had the upper-hand, he always got this queer gleam in his eyes and a smile that was secretive and something else that I hadn't figured out until a few months later.

I looked at his face when he laid me down and slowly crawled over me. His face was tear-blotched but I didn't mind that much. His eyes held that same look but with a large amount of fear. I knew he was scared of rejection but I still held onto him and he laid himself upon me. His head rested on my breasts and his arms encircled my waist once more. He was so much bigger than me that when he wrapped his arms around me like he did, he could grasp his own shoulders with the opposite hand. I could feel tears through my shirt along with the heat from his body which was completely covering mine.

I ran my fingers through his hair and every now and then he would kiss my neck and jaw and sometimes he was come daringly close to my lips. How I wished he would kiss me but I knew that he would never go any farther than what I would allow him to. I didn't move for a very long time. I laid there as still as I could with my eyes closed, receiving his praise. Again, he strayed close to my lips, just barely missing my lower lip. Before either of us registered the movement, I swiftly turned my head and my lips pressed themselves against Gaara's lightly. He shot up and looked at me. I wanted him so badly to kiss me, to feel those soft, warm, moist lips on mind again. I think my body showed this for he leaned in slowly, his eyes closing along the way, and he kissed me gently. He moved his lips against mine and I followed. I felt his hands cradle the back of my head and the arm around my waist tightened conceder ably. I didn't want to ever stop. I wanted to be in this moment forever. For it to never, ever end. But Death would never allow that. He wanted me so badly, my mind could feel it. I could feel tears at the corner of my eyes. Gaara sat up slowly and brushed my tears away.

"Hinata...." He whispered." Please. Please tell me why your crying!" He pleaded to me. I shook my head and he got up and left. I curled into my blankets. I could just barely trace the faint smell of Gaara. I slept.

When he came home, I heard him open the ladder and just walk in. No knock, no "Hello, I'm home!" He staggered to me, and I knew he was drunk. I could even smell it floating around him like butterflies around a patch of flowers. He crawled stupidity in-between the covers next to me. I turned to face the drunk, and I caressed his face. He merely stared back at me and then he kissed me, I responded. I could hear Death growl from the corner. Gaara's hands slowly slid into my shirt and it took my breath away from a moment. Before I knew it, my shirt was off and somewhere across the room. I couldn't stop myself from moaning when Gaara licked my hips and pulled off my underwear. He came back up to kiss me and as he did, he slid into me. It was unexpected and completely breath takingly painful! I yelped when he seated himself. He himself was in bliss and I followed. He was kissing me, everywhere and I loved it. The pain and pleasure and kisses sent me to a place I could never imagine I would be. I felt so good and could have wept.

Gaara had his head buried in my neck and I listened at his groans and labored breathing. His movements were beautiful and careful. He went so slow and passionately, this time, I really did weep. All I could do was clutch onto him as he showed me what he was holding back all those times before he left for the army.

Tensing, he finished right after I did. My legs and arms were numb, but that didn't stop me from wrapping them around him. I felt so complete, and loved.

"I love you." He whispered, kissing me, brushing his tongue against mine.

"I love you too." He smiled and kissed my forehead, curling up against me. Then, there was a crash from the kitchen. I gripped Gaara's shirt as he grabbed his pants. As a faster route, Gaara jumped into the dumb-waiter. I was still trying to get my panties on when I almost threw up at the sound of the rope snapping and the crash below. I raced down the stairs, missing the last flight, I fell on my face. I looked to my left, and there was Gaara's lifeless body in a pool of blood on the kitchen floor. I crawled as fast as I could to his body. His neck had broken and it was flipped all the way around. Tears started to roll down my face as I repositioned his head to not look so qrotecely in my lap. There was a noise from the dumb-waiter and when I looked up, I saw Death smiling and chuckling at me. This was my punishment for disobeying my master, my keeper. I realized now that Death had fallen in love with me and I had failed to notice the full complexity. Sasuke came walking over broken glass from which the loud noise came from, that made Gaara ride his last ride to heaven. I knew he would go to heaven, as would I. We were good, honest people, and I think the biggest sin I've ever committed was lying. So I prayed, for both of us.

Sasuke. Sasuke was talking to me and I focused on his voice and on the gun he held in his hand, pointed at my heart.

".... and if I can't have you, no one else ever will." The bellowing ring of the shot echoed into my ears. I remember falling backwards. I could see Death laughing, but I'd be damned if that was going to be the last thing I ever saw. It took the rest of my strength to hold Gaara's corpse to me and to kiss his still warm, dead lips, before I bled to death.

I awoke to find Gaara. Smiling at me, and I laughed as I leapt into his arms.


End file.
